Macbeth | Page 7

battlements. Come, you spirits That tend on mortal thoughts,

unsex me here; And fill me, from the crown to the toe, top-full Of
direst cruelty! make thick my blood, Stop up the access and passage to
remorse, That no compunctious visitings of nature Shake my fell
purpose, nor keep peace between The effect and it! Come to my
woman's breasts, And take my milk for gall, your murdering ministers,
Wherever in your sightless substances You wait on nature's mischief!
Come, thick night, And pall thee in the dunnest smoke of hell That my
keen knife see not the wound it makes Nor heaven peep through the
blanket of the dark To cry, "Hold, hold!"
[Enter Macbeth.]
Great Glamis! Worthy Cawdor! Greater than both, by the all-hail
hereafter! Thy letters have transported me beyond This ignorant present,
and I feel now The future in the instant.
MACBETH. My dearest love, Duncan comes here tonight.
LADY MACBETH. And when goes hence?
MACBETH. To-morrow,--as he purposes.
LADY MACBETH. O, never Shall sun that morrow see! Your face,
my thane, is as a book where men May read strange matters:--to
beguile the time, Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, Your
hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower, But be the serpent
under't. He that's coming Must be provided for: and you shall put This
night's great business into my despatch; Which shall to all our nights
and days to come Give solely sovereign sway and masterdom.
MACBETH. We will speak further.
LADY MACBETH. Only look up clear; To alter favor ever is to fear:
Leave all the rest to me.
[Exeunt.]

SCENE VI. The same. Before the Castle.
[Hautboys. Servants of Macbeth attending.]
[Enter Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Banquo, Lennox, Macduff, Ross,
Angus, and Attendants.]
DUNCAN. This castle hath a pleasant seat: the air Nimbly and sweetly
recommends itself Unto our gentle senses.
BANQUO. This guest of summer, The temple-haunting martlet, does
approve By his lov'd mansionry, that the heaven's breath Smells
wooingly here: no jutty, frieze, buttress, Nor coigne of vantage, but this
bird hath made His pendant bed and procreant cradle: Where they most
breed and haunt, I have observ'd The air is delicate.
[Enter Lady Macbeth.]
DUNCAN. See, see, our honour'd hostess!-- The love that follows us
sometime is our trouble, Which still we thank as love. Herein I teach
you How you shall bid God ild us for your pains, And thank us for your
trouble.
LADY MACBETH. All our service In every point twice done, and then
done double, Were poor and single business to contend Against those
honours deep and broad wherewith Your majesty loads our house: for
those of old, And the late dignities heap'd up to them, We rest your
hermits.
DUNCAN. Where's the Thane of Cawdor? We cours'd him at the heels,
and had a purpose To be his purveyor: but he rides well; And his great
love, sharp as his spur, hath holp him To his home before us. Fair and
noble hostess, We are your guest tonight.
LADY MACBETH. Your servants ever Have theirs, themselves, and
what is theirs, in compt, To make their audit at your highness' pleasure,
Still to return your own.

DUNCAN. Give me your hand; Conduct me to mine host: we love him
highly, And shall continue our graces towards him. By your leave,
hostess.
[Exeunt.]

SCENE VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.
[Hautboys and torches. Enter, and pass over, a Sewer and divers
Servants with dishes and service. Then enter Macbeth.]
MACBETH. If it were done when 'tis done, then 'twere well It were
done quickly. If the assassination Could trammel up the consequence,
and catch, With his surcease, success; that but this blow Might be the
be-all and the end-all--here, But here, upon this bank and shoal of
time,-- We'd jump the life to come. But in these cases We still have
judgement here; that we but teach Bloody instructions, which being
taught, return To plague the inventor: this even-handed justice
Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice To our own lips.
He's here in double trust: First, as I am his kinsman and his subject,
Strong both against the deed: then, as his host, Who should against his
murderer shut the door, Not bear the knife myself. Besides, this Duncan
Hath borne his faculties so meek, hath been So clear in his great office,
that his virtues Will plead like angels, trumpet-tongued, against The
deep damnation of his taking-off: And pity, like a naked new-born babe,
Striding the blast, or heaven's cherubin, hors'd Upon the sightless
couriers of the air, Shall blow the horrid deed in every eye, That tears
shall drown the wind.--I have no spur To prick the sides of my intent,
but only Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself, And falls